One Shot
by LilyGhost
Summary: With Ranger's help, Stephanie tries to make sense of what on the surface seems like a senseless act.


**I'm having WiFi issues, but I thought I'd try to post while I could. I'm a little behind on review responses, but I'll catch up as quickly as I can. All familiar characters belong to Janet. The mistakes are mine.**

"This doesn't make _any sense!_ " I said, for probably the fiftieth time in the last twenty minutes.

"Real life seldom does, Babe. It isn't pretty and it tends to take twists and turns we aren't expecting."

"But she knew Cal and Woody were right outside of that house. And _she_ had the _fucking gun!_ All she had to do was shoot the asshole who kidnapped her - she didn't even have to kill him if she was feeling more generous than I'll ever be - and run to the door and the safety of the guys. They told her to move away from the door because they were kicking it in, so she knew she was safe at that point. Or she could've let them do what they do best and just hold the asshole at gunpoint until our guys got her out of there."

"We don't know her," Ranger said, trying to slip some reason into my wildly spinning thoughts, "what she's gone through in the past, or the trauma she endured before we became involved."

"I know that ... one psycho's good time is another person's lifelong battle, but she shot _herself_ with the gun she got away from him, Ranger, not the fucker who deserved it _. Why?_ "

"I wish I had an answer to give you, but I don't. Could be she knew she couldn't live with what she's been through. Maybe she felt she had nothing or no one to go home to. Or it's possible she didn't trust my company or the legal system to keep her safe from the moment of the rescue on."

"But her father hired you to find her, so clearly she has at least one person who cares if she's alive or dead."

"And what if he had his own motives for finding her? Put yourself in her running shoes, Steph. Would your parents call the police if you went missing?"

"Absolutely."

"Would they be inconsolable if you were killed?"

"Only if inconsolable's definition has been changed to ' _angry that I went and got myself murdered'._ "

"After you were found, would you be able to sit down with them and tell them what happened, and how you feel about it, while they provide emotional support? Would they be willing to listen to your anger and fear at two in the morning when another nightmare kicks in and you're afraid to go back to sleep?"

"No and no. You're the _only_ one I can talk to about the stuff that's happened to me. No one else gets it or me. Anyone in the Burg, especially my family, would first make tons of jokes about me purposely going for a jog. And then they would start lecturing me for being dumb and going for one alone, making an abduction like this one sound like _I_ was asking for it just by daring to do something as ordinary as exercising without a police escort."

"And if your parents weren't willing to listen, would they find the name and number of a qualified professional who could help you deal with what you endured?"

I sighed. His point stuck in me ... _hard_.

"No," I said after a beat. "They tell me to stop moping and dwelling on stuff whenever I appear ' _disagreeable_ '. And that goes for both _really serious_ or _seriously stupid_ stuff."

"Would you ever _admit to yourself_ that _you_ need help and then purposely find it ... and actually go to the appointments you made?"

"I wanna say yes, but past experience has shown that I just tell myself to suck it up and forget about the bad stuff until it periodically sneaks back up on me and kicks me in the teeth again."

"So you _do_ have an idea of what may have been going through her mind, or how she was feeling when she pulled the trigger. What would've happened to you if you never had me to talk to?"

What's sad is how easy that is to answer, since I've already lived it - and almost died because of it numerous times - from the time I divorced Dickie until I finally told Ranger I love him.

"I'd stumble through life," I admitted, being as honest as I could, "trying to avoid my feelings while heading blindly into scary situation after scary situation until one finally killed me."

"So you can see that the only difference between the old you and her, is she chose an immediate end to her suffering, whereas you would have lived with it until something/someone else decided a fate you didn't much care about either way."

"I definitely don't feel that way now," I was quick to assure him. "I watch my ass more than even _you_ do."

"Since I stare at it more than I should, I'm glad and also relieved to hear that."

"I know I put you through hell getting me, I'm not about to cut any of our time together short. I _have_ to keep me - and you - safe so we can make up for all that time we could've had _this_. Unfortunately, though, I understand what you were saying. When people feel like no one cares about them, they either stop caring themselves or they turn desperate and try to tip life's hand one way or another ... and it usually ends badly."

"It's unfair to judge someone's choices or actions even if you know what led to them, because no two people experience trauma the same way."

"I won't judge anyone _unless_ we're talking about the psychopaths. For guys like the asshole who kidnapped Gabrielle, I'm reserving every right to judge, blame, and wish painful things to happen to, them."

"Of course," he said, holding me tighter.

We never made it past the front hall of his apartment. As soon as Ranger got back to the Rangeman building from what we already learned was a grisly scene, he took my hand in the lobby where I'd been waiting for him, and he tugged me into the elevator, knowing how hard I would take this. People die everyday, but when it's someone who doesn't deserve it, it pisses me off almost as much as it depresses me. The better _my life_ becomes, the more I hate to see it end for someone else.

Ranger's phone buzzed against my hip, since I stayed pressed to him from the moment he had his door locked behind us. I waited for him to check the text before asking about it.

"Are Cal and Woody done talking to your Rangedoctor?"

"Yes."

"How are they?"

"Tough as hell."

"That goes without saying or they wouldn't be working for you, but how are they handling what they discovered when they kicked the door off its hinges after hearing a gunshot?"

"They're doing better than expected, but that could be due to them getting to beat Chauntley half-dead before the cops arrived and dragged them off of him."

"I know it's really wrong to say this, because the guys should get to picture only cute things like birthday cakes and puppies as they try to fall asleep, but I'm glad they may be able to see Kip Chauntley's broken body instead of Gabrielle Linwood's. I'm coming with you to check on them."

"I'd expect nothing less."

He got the door for me and followed me into the elevator, hitting the button for the second floor. I'd been a little surprised that Ranger hadn't just been talking about the fleet vehicles and Rangeman's arsenal of weapons, when he told me that he makes sure _every_ part of his company is running right. Keeping his men healthy doesn't stop at their diets or gym time. From too much experience, Ranger knows if your head isn't right, nothing else will be.

There's no expression on either Cal or Woody's faces, but I could feel the full force of their anguish all the way to where Ranger and I were as we stepped off the elevator. I didn't say anything, I just walked over to them and curled an arm around both of Ranger's men and my friends, bending my head in sympathy/sorrow until it was resting in-between Cal's left and Woody's right shoulders.

We may not know her beyond her name and the identifying information Rangeman was given in order to find her, but we mourned Gabrielle like she was one of our own.


End file.
